


Outfox

by goddessofcruelty



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, D/s, Evil Peter Hale, F/F, F/M, Fake Marriage, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Foursome - M/M/M/M, Fox Boyd, Frottage, Ghost Mason, Hooker Isaac Lahey, Hooker Jackson Whittemore, M/M, Madam Lydia Martin, Magical Kate Argent, Magical Liam Dunbar, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Magical Victoria Argent, Marking, Mates, Mobster Peter Hale, Multi, Nipple Play, One Night Stands, Public Sex, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rough Sex, Sex Pollen, Supernatural Bonds, Threesome - M/M/M, Undercover Cop Stiles Stilinski, Voyeurism, Witches, Yakuza Noshiko Yukimura, mate bond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-21
Updated: 2014-11-12
Packaged: 2018-02-18 04:55:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2336039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goddessofcruelty/pseuds/goddessofcruelty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Stilinski! You're gonna love this.”</p><p>Stiles slouches into the chair in front of Bobby Finstock's desk and arches a brow. Finstock hands him a file and the younger man reads it and then sighs. He does not, in fact, love this. Stiles hates it with every fiber of his being.</p><p>“Can't I go back to the drug den?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note: The Non-Con is for Stiles digging around in someone's thoughts without their consent.

“Stilinski! You're gonna love this.”

Stiles slouches into the chair in front of Bobby Finstock's desk and arches a brow. Finstock hands him a file and the younger man reads it and then sighs. He does not, in fact, love this.

Stiles hates it with every fiber of his being.

“Can't I go back to the drug den?”

“Where's your class, Stilinski? Your sense of adventure?”

“Working at the bar was nice too.”

Finstock grins and hands Stiles the card to a tuxedo rental. “The Bureau thanks you for your service”

-

“I fail to see how _you're_ going to protect my Kira.” The head of the yakuza family, whose scion Stiles has been contracted to assist, is cold and haughty, and very unimpressed by his all too human appearance.

Stiles mentally sighs. Why do they always demand a demonstration?

He flicks his gaze over to her, eyes suddenly flashing an incandescent silver. Noshiko swallows visibly as she realizes that she can't move. While she's immobilized, Stiles mutters a soft word, and every magical object in the room starts to glow. For added affect, the glow is color coded according to use. There's a lot of purple-black in the room.

“Look at all the deadly toxins in here,” he tsks.

Noshiko is unaffected by his showy display, and Stiles sighs and dispels it all. No one ever appreciates what he can do. He dispels it, and instead he crosses his arms and lets his tattoos bleed through his skin. This is what finally cracks that porcelain shell, and the older woman delicately arches a single brow and then gives him a brusque nod.

“I will see you get in the groom's entourage,” she says with a sniff as if _she's_ the one doing _him_ a favor.

Stiles sets his jaw and questions his life choices. Keeping the Balance is a thankless task.

-

Stiles is still set on hating this job, that is, right until he meets the groom. Derek Hale is a solid wall of perfect muscle, somehow combined with a smile that is the most adorable thing that Stiles Stilinski has ever seen. It's a truly unfair combination and the druid must remind himself that this is really not what he's here for, as Derek extends his hand.

“You must be Stiles.”

He grasps Derek's hand and shakes, deliberately not thinking about the strength and breadth of it, and manages a credible smile in return.

“Nice to meet you,” he manages, and Derek flashes that smile in return, which he _really_ needs to stop doing for the sheer sake of Stiles' sanity.

“Noshiko tells us you're the son of a newly allied Family that we couldn't possibly offend.”

This new voice is pure sex on a stick, and Stiles turns to see another wall of muscle, simultaneously managing to be less defined that Derek...but twice as threatening.

“Peter Hale,” he says, somehow managing to make is sound like an invitation to debauchery.

Hale genetics are truly unfair, and Stiles isn't sure he's going to survive this wedding.

-

It gets even worse when Stiles meets everyone else in the groom's party, because all of them are absolutely gorgeous. He's seriously thinking about resigning from druid-dom. Maybe a nice little cottage somewhere in the middle of a swamp like they used to do it in the olden days.

“Skittles?”

Stiles turns to see the sunniest smile that he's ever seen, which is saying something because Derek Hale's no slouch in the sunshine department, topped by a pair of the warmest brown eyes that made you want to–

Stiles shakes his head, answering the offer, and dispelling the thought.

“No thanks,” he smiles and the guy considers a moment, then pulls another bag from the inside pocket of his jacket. “I can offer Sour Skittles as well.”

Stiles wants to pin this guy up against the wall and do really awful things to him. Instead, he's simply polite, _on the job right now Stiles_ , and offers his hand.

“Stiles.”

“Scott McCall.”

“Good to meet you, man.” He gazes around at the club. “Where do they keep the booze around here?” Stiles really needs a drink.

Scott frowns. “I don't think they keep liquor on tap for the humans. This club doesn’t usually cater to that clientele.”

Somehow, even though he's supposed to be a brilliant, magical genius, this is the first moment that Stiles realizes that _everyone in this bar is a werewolf_.

“You okay, dude? You heart-rate just skyrocketed.”

Stiles tells the truth. “I didn't realize I was the only human here.”

Scott laughs. “Welcome to the Jungle.”

-

By the time Stiles gets home from the gathering, he's got a list of suspects: Peter Hale – everything about that man...wolf...screams danger; Isaac – the angelic blonde on Peter's arm, no one that innocent looking isn't up to something; Derek Hale – The obvious suspect, the one who benefits least from this arrangement; Malia Hale – Peter's daughter, wild and unrestrained; Scott McCall – because he doesn't seem to fit in right with the Hales; Cora Hale – There's something off about her that he just can't put his finger on; and Lydia Martin – the stunning strawberry blonde on Cora's arm, merely due to her being in bed – literally – with the Hales.

Stiles makes a list, Means, Motive, Opportunity, smiles softly as he thinks of his dad doing the same for more everyday crimes. He'd been so proud when Stiles had gotten the job at the Bureau.

The list gets extensive. Everyone on the Hale side has both the means – all of them are filthy rich and apparently supernatural, and opportunity – the wedding itself.

Motive doesn't help him either. Stiles doesn’t' have enough background, hell he doesn’t even know why the two of them are getting married in the first place, but any sort of previous prejudice could be at play here.

 _Wolves do not typically get along with foxes_ , Noshiko had said, and of course, then refused to elaborate further.

Finances are always an option, it's a popular motive, and combining two empires means shifting power structure. Hell the whole thing could be an elaborate ruse to lure the reclusive kitsune out into the open.

 _Except_ , the only thing Stiles is certain of, is that the happy couple do, indeed, adore each other. It's a little bit sickening. They're awkward and blushing and shy around each other, and Stiles may or may not have at least three separate fantasies about breaking both of them.

There's a little bit of wolf in this druid.

-

“I'm afraid that's information I simply cannot vie you.”

Stiles steeples his fingers and looks at the woman. “What _can_ you tell me?”

“Nothing.” She shrugs, but Noshiko's hands catch his attention, moving in the same pattern over and over. It takes four times before Stiles' brain kicks in and he really _sees_ them. Sign language.

“I see,” he manages, briefly wonder how the hell she knows he understands ASL. “That is disappointing.”

They make small talk out loud, over the flying of their fingers, and Stiles now at least has a reason for the union of fox and wolf.

It seems Peter Hale found about the yakuza family's money trouble somehow, and offered his nephew in exchange for exclusive rights to their “shipping” corridors, along with the promise to float them through their current difficulties.

Noshiko ends the conversation with a pleasant dismissal and a curt hand gesture. She will tell him no more, the kitsune has already breached her family's privacy far more than is her wont. But Kira's life is at stake here.

Stiles rises and takes his leave, mind mulling over all this new information. The druid comes to a decision. He's going to have to get close to Peter Hale.

-

“No Isaac tonight?” Stiles wanders up beside Peter where he leans on a railing overlooking the partying crowd. He studies the drink in his hand, wondering if the groom intends to party this hard every night until the wedding.

Peter looks nonplussed for the briefest of seconds, and then laughs. “I forgot you ducked out early last night.”

Stiles feels mildly offended. He'd stayed until two am!

“Isaac, along with a...companion,” Peter continues, “was merely the evening's... entertainment.”

Stiles tries very hard not to think about what that might mean.

“Oh,” he says, deliberately not looking at the wolf, “single then?”

Stiles says it in such a manner, so _overly_ casual, with such an air of studied nonchalance, that it's painfully obvious he's trying too hard to be bland.

Peter eye's gleam with sudden interest. “Very,” he purrs, flashing white teeth.

Stiles' heart skips a beat at that, and he knows the wolf can hear it. He surveys the party beneath with a noncommittal hum. “Me too,” he offers with a forced aloofness, taking a sip of his drink, then turning to look at the older man.

Stiles opens his eyes wider, briefly biting at his lower lip, and then flicking the tip of his tongue out to slide across it. He's practiced this little move over and over until its effortless artifice. There's something about me like Peter Hale that simply cannot resist the appearance of innocence and naivete.

Peter's eyes track the movement.

_Got him._

-

To Stiles' surprise, the wolf does not try to seduce him immediately. Peter buys him dinner instead of drinks, takes him home instead of to the werewolf's bed. He's charming and funny, and incredibly handsome, and it's not hard to spend time with him. Stiles manages the part of ingenue gracefully, drawing on some painfully awkward experiences from his past.

By the end of what's become their first date, Stiles isn't sure who's come out the winner, but he's grateful that he's going to be forced to spend more time with Peter Hale.

Being the magical equivalent of an FBI agent doesn't pay very well, so when the werewolf decides to flaunt his wealth, the awe that Stiles displays in one hundred percent unfeigned.

This yacht is bigger than the entire house he grew up in, Stiles is sure, and he spends far too long being delighted by all the bells and whistles, and asking stupid questions, while the other guests party.

They're over open water, Stiles watching the sunset, when the Hale patriarch finally makes his move, walking up behind Stiles and sliding an arm loosely around the druid's waist.

“I don't think they'll miss us if we sneak off,” he murmurs low into Stiles' ear, and he allows himself to sway slightly back into Peter, tilting his head to the side in an “unconscious” baring of his neck as he pretends to think about it.

“Sneak off to where?” Stiles turns around, eyes wide, and isn't surprised in the least when Peter tugs hims close and claims his lips. He's surprised by his very enthusiastic....reaction...suddenly pressing against Peter's thigh. “I'll take that as a yes,” the wolf murmurs against Stiles lips, and the flush that color's his cheeks isn't fake at all.

Peter turns and tugs the druid behind him, twining his fingers with Stiles and pulling him behind. For his part, Stiles goes over his spell, makes sure he has the tiny little vial of liquid in his pocket. It will send Peter into a light trance for a very short period of time, but it should allow the druid to see what he's planning for Kira.

Unfortunately, the only way to administer it is orally, and so it will affect the druid as well. He's fairly confident in his ability to work under the influence, if he wasn't Stiles would have come up with something different. This way, Peter stays unaware that he's been found out.

The wolf wastes no time once he's got the fly in his web, pulls Stiles close to him and delves deep into the druid's mouth, presses his tongue past the cupid's bow lips and slides across the younger man's tongue while he slides his hands up into Stiles' shirt.

Peter chuckles darkly against Stiles' lips as his finger brush across the ridiculously sensitive nipples that the younger man is always so careful to keep hidden. “Hm, like that?” he murmurs, and teases then mercilessly as he keeps the druid pinned up against the door, and all Stiles can do right now is hold on and try to recall that he has a job to do here.

When Peter dips his head to use that wicked mouth on the tender buds, Stiles tugs the liquid from its hiding place and squeezes the scant droplets onto his tongue. With a groan that's not altogether faked, Stiles grabs a fistful of Peter's hair and yanks him back from his torturous task, leans down in assumed desperation, and slides his tongue inexpertly into the wolf's mouth.

Peter, predictably, pulls back and tsks at Stiles' supposed eagerness, and tugs off his shirt before pinning him back against the door securely this time and attacks those tight peaks once again. But Stiles has accomplished his goal, and now he just has to wait the thirty minutes until the drug takes affect.

The druid lets go, and bucks his hips, whimpering at the overstimulation until Peter relents, curls his hand over the younger man's bulge pushing at the zip of his jeans.

“I think I could make you come from that alone,” he breathes against Stiles' lips while he presses his palm down, making Stiles throw his head back, exposing his neck. Peter doesn't pass up this opportunity a second time. He spends the next few minutes making his mark on the tender, pale flesh, over and over.

Stiles is a trembling wreck by the time Peter gets around to laying him out on the bed, and it's been way too long for the druid, because when Peter spreads his thighs and dips his head between them, flicks his tongue over the tightly puckered rim that's exposed, Stiles nearly loses it right there.

“Peter,” he gasps out, trying to warn the wolf, but the older man must sense it, because Peter's hand is already wrapping tightly around the base of Stiles' dick, holding him back.

“So eager,” the older man murmurs, and Stiles flushes even further, and wishes he wasn't what he is, because Stiles could really get used to doing this on a more frequent basis.

He stops thinking after that, because Peter gets clever with his tongue, and Stiles just focuses on holding himself back, fingers clawing desperately at the bedcovers as Peter takes him apart slowly with his mouth, and then his fingers.

Stiles is a whimpering mess by the time Peter slides into him, and he clutches tightly to the older man as he rocks his hips in tiny increments. “Peter, please,” Stiles sobs, and the wolf finally has pity on the druid and starts thrusting in earnest, and it only takes a couple before Stiles is pulsing stripes across their stomachs. Peter fucks him all the way through it, rutting harshly into Stiles as he chases his own release, then clutches the younger man to him tightly, claiming his lips one more time as he fills him with his come.

Peter has one more surprise in store for Stiles, he's absolutely a cuddler after sex and he doesn't give Stiles a choice – not that he would have refused this time, just rolls to his side and wraps around the druid. Stiles gives himself a count to thirty, and then begins his spell, resting his head on the werewolf's admittedly magnificent chest, and synching himself to the heartbeat beneath. He only has a few moments, so he skims through the surface, searching for Kira.

When he finds it, Stiles sets his jaw and withdraws. Peter is still blessedly post-coital, and when Stiles' cell buzzes (after a tiny magical flare), he doesn't protest overly much at Stiles' truthful explanation that it's his boss (it is), and that he has to go (he really has to get the hell out of here).

The wolf does tug him into a lingering kiss, secure in his skills of seductions and assures Stiles that he will be seeing the druid tomorrow.

Stiles flashes a smile and ducks out of there.

He won't be seeing Peter Hale again.

-

Stiles hopefully won't be seeing Noshiko Yukimura again after today either. Something about the kitsune bothers him, like an itch beneath his skin. Also, she's not impressed by anything he does.

When faced with the news of Peter's duplicity, she merely nods and demands a way to neutralize the toxin that he's having placed in the wedding goblets.

“Unfortunately, there's no way do to so that I know of. I'd suggest swapping them out, maybe have someone drop them or something. The Balance won't allow me to interfere any further.”

She thanks him coolly and then sees him out.

-

Stiles learns that the wedding is still on the next day when he calls Derek from the plane to offer his apologies.

“Boss is sending me out of town, wish you all the best, man.” He really truly does, so there's no lies for Derek's wolf hearing to detect, even if that works over the phone.

Stiles ends the call and drops his phone in the seat next to him, pulls out the file Finstock had given him, flicks it open.

The actual FBI has called him in to consult on a case that seems to have magical overtones. Stiles reads the file until his phone buzzes again. The druid looks down to see Peter Hale's name on the caller ID.

Stiles reaches down and hits ignore.

 


	2. Chapter 2

“Stiles.” The greeting is polite, not overly warm, but the handshake linger a touch too long, the gaze holds long enough that Rafael McCall side-eyes his partner

“Deuc.” Stiles' greeting is just as detached but his eyes skate familiarly over the Agent's body, and he stand just a touch too close.

McCall sighs audibly. “I take it you two _know_ each other.”

Stiles flashes a bright grin, and Rafael feels the sudden lurch of desire, because now he can see it, the joie de vivre that paints luminous lines across Stiles and beautifies him. And then just as suddenly it is gone, tamped down into normalcy. Rafael shakes his head a moment and then turns to Deucalion and arches a brow.

“Ah, yes. This is my partner, Special Agent Rafael McCall–”

“What happened to you previous partner?” Stiles interrupts. “What was her name?”

“Kali,” Deuc shrugs. “She moved on.”

Stiles hums noncommittally and then jerks his chin. “That the stiff?”

Rafe arches both brows and gives his partner a look that says, _Really, Deuc? This is the expert that you called in to help solve what seems to be a heart attack not a murder?_

Deuc narrows his eyes at Rafe in a returns gaze that says, _Trust me_ , and then nods to Stiles. “Found dead on the street, no apparent cause of death, in the prime of health, no wounds or diseases. Doc's baffled.”

Rafe crosses his arms and leans against the morgue locker, watching this Stiles suspiciously as he runs his hands over the body, an inch away from it, never quite touching it, and then he thinks he hears humming?, and Deuc turns to looks at him from where he'd been focused on the druid.

“Hey, Rafe, mind grabbing some java?”

McCall blinks in astonishment, then gives a long-suffering sigh and turns on his heel and stalks up the stairs.

Deuc waits until he can't hear the human's heartbeat any more, and then turns around to see Stiles already looking at him, one eyebrow curved and his lips pursed. “Why am I really here, Deuc?”

“Peter Hale.”

The clipboard Stiles is holding falls from suddenly nerveless fingers. “Peter Hale,” he repeats flatly, mind racing.

“You've obviously heard of him,” Deucalion nods before continuing. “I've smelled his scent on my partner twice now.”

Stiles recoils, “You mean–”

Deuc snorts. “Not like that, Stiles. Just that they've been in close proximity. I'm...concerned.”

The druid leans back against the cold storage lockers and fixes his gaze intently on Special Agent Deucalion. “Personally or professionally?”

The werewolf's eyes dart away for the briefest of seconds, and Stiles has his answer, even when Deuc replies smoothly, “Professional, of course. If he's infiltrated the Bureau, it would explain how he knew we were coming when we tried to raid his warehouse.”

Stiles shrugs and turns away, looks back at the corpse. “This was a paralyzing spell on steroids. Instead of stopping the guy in his tracks, it stopped everything, heart, brain, etc.” He ponders a moment. “I'm going to postulate that the person who did this is untrained...and powerful. There's a fundamental understanding of how such a thing works, but absolutely no finesse.”

“So it remains unsolved.” Deuc says flatly, but Stiles shakes his head. “I've got something in my hotel room, it's undetectable with your normal tox screen, but will be there if you go looking for it, and produces enough of the same symptoms that it shouldn't get overlooked. You've got more like this?”

The werewolf agent nods. “This is the fifth.”

Stiles muses. “I've got enough that you can cover those and two more. Hopefully by then, we'll have caught the kid.”

“Kid?” Deuc queries.

“No control but powerful, I'm guessing angry and newly come into power, possibly confused. Yeah, I'd say it's a teenager with anger issues.”

“That sounds like every teenager I've ever known,” the older man grumbles.

“Eh, we'll find him, the Balance will see to it.”

-

Liam Dunbar screams and screams but no one can save him from the ghosts that surround him.

His father, deep voice grating along Liam's nerves as he picks apart everything the boy has ever done, continually whispering a litany of his failures. His old coach, same thing, nitpicking every flaw, every mistake. Mason, his best friend and the first person he had ever killed, who doesn't say anything, merely stand behind the others sorrowfully, fixing his intolerably sad gaze on Liam's face.

The others, names he does not know, those who tried to help him or attack him, it didn't seemed to matter to whatever demon was possessing the boy, one touch, one hand rested upon his arms got them all killed, every last one of them.

For the last two days, since the last kill, he's been holed up in the woods, has dragged himself away from humanity, somehow got out of the city, and found a place blessedly clear of those he could hurt. Maybe here they're all safe from him.

A noise at the mouth of the cave has Liam peering through the darkness. “Don't– Don't come any closer, I'm..I'm really sick. Ebola. You'll die...”

Two glowing blue orbs swivel his way, and then the silhouette of a dog is framed in the light from the entrance, and then vanishes. Liam thinks he's scared it off until he feels the cold, wet touch on his arm, and he flinches away.

The dog tenses backwards as well, Liam can see the eyes, still glowing weirdly blue, but leans forward again, and licks his face. Liam squeaks and for a brief second, forgets that he's deadly, forgets about the ghosts that follow him, and just exists in the moment where he has dog slobber on his face.

“Ew, dog, stop.”

Surprisingly ti does, and he gets the distinct feeling that it's somewhat offended, but it curled up right into his side, rests its...chin?..on his leg and goes to sleep.

Liam looks down where the eyes had closed, peers in the dimness of the cave and just vaguely makes out maybe gray or brown fur? He hesitantly reaches out and rests his hand on the canine's back. Liam holds it there a minute, and when the dog continues breathing, he relaxes against the wall, and gradually begins to pet it.

He almost smiles at the pup pushes its head into his hand and he scritches it behind the ears. And that's when he notices that his ghosts are gone.

All except Mason.

Liam looks up, curious now instead of scared, somehow the dog seems to be calming him.

“Mason?” he says softly, and the ghost nods, offers up a sad smile.

“I'm _so_ sorry, Mase,” Liam says, voice hitching as he begins to get upset again. The pup shifts, and it brings him back to himself.

“It's alright, Liam,” Mason says back to him, and Liam stares, eyes wide open. Mason's ghost seems just as surprised. “Dude, did you hear me?”

“Yes, of course I heard you.”

The dog's head lifts up and those glowing blue eyes look at Liam, and then follow his gaze as he talks to empty air. She yips in question, and Lima turns to her...why he's suddenly sure it was a her, he has no idea.

“I think my best friend is haunting me.” She blinks at him and he nods, spilling his secrets. “I killed him.”

“Liam, that is not a dog,” Mason says.

“Of course it's a dog, you idiot.” Liam resumes his one-sided conversation with the air.

“Actually, that's a coyote,” comes a new voice from the entrance, and Liam makes an undignified squeak and cowers against the back wall.

“Nice to see you again Malia, what are you doing in town?”

The dog – coyote – pushes up on her feet, licks Liam's face and trots out, keeping a healthy distance from the man in the entrance. He withdraws and Liam hears a female voice, but he can't hear what they're saying.

“She's scolding him about not calling her father back,” Mason says, “and now he's asking her why she's got his cousin trapped in a cave.”

“Wait, what?” Liam stares at the ghost, who shrugs. “Dude, that's what he said.”

“I don't understand any of this,” Liam moans.

“You will soon, kiddo,” the man says from the entrance again. “You can come out, she's gone now.”

Liam shakes his head. “I don't want to, I'm safe here. I kill everyone I touch.”

“Malia seemed very not-dead,” he says and then offers his hand. “I'm Stiles, and you can't hurt me either.”

Liam hesitates. “You sure?”

Stiles flashes a grin. “Absolutely.”

Liam hesitates and looks at Mason, who nods encouragingly. He crawls out, flinching away when Stiles reaches a hand out, and then winces as he settles his hand into the taller man's.

“See, no problemo,” Stiles beams and then nods to Mason. “Who's your friend?”

Liam boggles. “You can see him?”

“Of course, kiddo,” Stiles winks, “You and I are the same, which is why little miss coyote didn't hear a lie when I called you my cousin.”

Liam shakes his head, overwhelmed, and then nods towards the ghost. “That's Mason, first person I killed.”

Stiles narrows his eyes thoughtfully and looks between the duo. “Hm, no, that's not it.”

Liam startles and blinks up at Stiles. “Yeah, pretty sure I killed him.”

“Don't,” Mason warns Stiles, and the ghost and the druid stare at each other for a long moment and then Stiles nods.

“Fair enough.” He turns and offers Liam a bright smile. “How would you like this ability to be wiped away gone, and then you can go back to your life?”

Liam opens his eyes wide and hopeful. “You can do that?”

Stiles nods. “And you won't see the ghosts anymore.”

Mason ineffectually tries to lay his hand on his friend's shoulder. “Liam, don't.”

Liam turns back to his friend, eyes welling up. “I don't want to hurt anyone else, Mase.”

“ _Think_ , you idiot. He said you're the _same_. He's not killing people. This Stiles person can _teach_ you, help you control it. It's part of you, Liam, don't get rid of it. Don't get rid of _me_.”

Liam hesitates, looks over his shoulder at Stiles. “That true?”

Stiles nods. “Yep. Lotta work and there's a price of course.”

The boy's eyes narrow. “Price?”

“You swear to serve the Balance. It's...eternally binding.” He muses a second. “Failure is...painful.”

“And Mason?”

Stiles looks directly at the ghost. “Mason will always be there.”

Liam narrows his eyes and sets his jaw. “I swear.”

Stiles sighs and his eyes are sad. “So be it.”

-

“Stilinski! What the hell is this?”

“This is Liam Dunbar, Coach. Another one for the Balance.”

 _Coach?_ Liam mouths at Stiles, who shrugs and whispers. “He made us call him Cupcake for six months, be happy with Coach.”

“Dunbar! Get your ass in here. I got a troll infestation in a high school that's right up your alley.”

Liam eyes are wide as he looks at Stiles who lays an arm across his shoulders. “Welcome to the family, kid.” Then he shoves Liam at the doorway to Finstock's office and skedaddles out to the job he's supposed to be doing.

-

“McCall, I didn't know this was your sort of place.” Stiles slides smoothly into the stool next to the Special Agent, and Rafael's eyes track down from the eyeliner to the nipple practically bursting through the flimsy fabric of Stiles' shirt, to the jeans that look like they're painted on.

“Apparently it is yours,” he says flatly and sets his drink down, gets up to leave.

“Don't leave,” Stiles says, reaching out and resting a hand on the taller man's chest. “At least have a drink with me.”

“I don't do sloppy seconds,” Rafael says with distaste, and turns on his heel and leaves.

“I could have told you that wouldn't work,” Deuc murmurs next to his ear.

“Actually, it did,” Stiles sighs, “It wasn't you he was talking about.”

Deuc hums and tilts his head as Stiles turns to face him.

“He was thinking about Peter Hale.”

-

“What do you mean you can't do anything?”

“Deuc, what he's doing isn't against the Balance, you know my options are limited here! If I act too far out...” Stiles shudders. “Let's just say it's not good.”

“Informing for the Mafia. Peter _fucking_ Hale.” The werewolf growls low and paces. Stiles watches, at first absently, and then his eyes track lower, and he begins to admire the way Deucalion's thigh muscles flex when he's walking, and then his ass when he turns, and it's not until the wolf stops and narrows red-glowing eyes at the druid, that Stiles realizes how distracted he's become.

“Really, Stiles? In the middle of a crisis?”

Stiles manages a credible look of innocence, but it only had the Alpha stalking towards him, and the way that Deucalion picked him up and threw Stiles over his shoulder didn't do anything to help.

Stiles arches as he hits the bed in Deucalion's flat, scooting back a bit as the wolf swiftly disrobes, and then advances on the druid.

Stiles hurriedly tugs his clothing off, knowing from experience that if he's not nude by the time Deucalion reaches him, whatever is standing in the Alpha's way will get thoroughly shredded.

He doesn't even speak, just pins the younger man down, burying his nose in Stiles' neck and breathing in the druid's scent, running the pads of his hands everywhere he can reach. Stiles would be more flattered if he didn't know that Deucalion is simply scent marking him, giving fully into instinct.

Stiles curls his hand in the Alpha's hair, tugs back and grins at the red-eyed feral snarl as he deprives the wolf of his target. “I do have a flight in three hours, if you don't mind hurrying this along.”

Deuc snarls and roughly flips Stiles over, and the druid practically _purrs_ at the manhandling.

Right up until ten claw tips prick into the soft curves of his ass and pulls it apart. He feels the hot breath of the werewolf along the cleft, at which Stiles squirms, and then he feels the rough slide of Deucalion's tongue along his puckered rim.

Stiles fists his hands in the sheets and mewls as he tries to push back into the wolf's face, but Deuc holds him in place, taking his damn sweet time about eating Stiles out, and the druid is practically whimpering by the time Deucalion has decided it's enough.

He feels the tip of the bottle at his entrance and emits a very undignified squeak as the older man squirts the lube directly into him, and starts to direct a nasty comment over his shoulder when two fingers are shoved into him without warning.

“Deuc,” Stiles manages, voice strangled, but the wolf ignores him, fucking the fingers into him, no other sounds but the obscene squelches, and then he crooks them and Stiles jerks beneath him.

“Motherfuck–” He cuts off as the Alpha flips him once more time, hooking the druid heels over his shoulder and lining up, pressing himself slowly into Stiles without warning.

He's familiar enough with Stiles' body that he gets the angle just right and Stiles immediately reaches down to wrap a hand around himself.

Deuc rumbles low and pulls Stiles' arms up to hold them over his head, leans down and attaches his lips to one of the druid's _very_ sensitive nipples. Stiles bucks up beneath him, and he can _feel_ the smugness radiating off the wolf as he writhes under Deucalion's ministrations.

The Alpha ruts into him harshly, fucking the human with no regard to his frailty, and that's just the way Stiles prefers it. He wriggles like prey under the werewolf, and Deuc holds him that much more tightly, and Stiles knows he'll have bruises for the next week, and that's what sends him over the edge, spurting stripes of come across his stomach and Deuc's. The werewolf takes no notice of Stiles' finish, just continues at his own pace until he's finally satisfied, pulsing his seed deep inside Stiles. When Deuc finally slides free of the druid's body, he collapses to the side, and drifts off into replete slumber.

“Same to you, buddy,” Stiles mumbles as he tugs himself free of the twisted covers and wanders off to Deucalion's shower. He's long since used to the Alpha's ways by now, and he simply cleans up and lets himself out like always.

Stiles does stop and do a little spell to rid himself of the werewolf's scent before he gets into his car. He wouldn’t mind keeping it, in fact the thought of being claimed like that has him starting to react again, but he pushes the thought, and the looming erection away. He's got a job to do.

-

“You sure?”

“Yeah, I saw Peter in his office. _After_ I met him, McCall didn't recognize me when we were introduced.”

“Headed home, then?”

“Figured it was best.”

“See you in a few weeks, Stilinski. Take care of your old man.”

“You got it, Coach.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

“Stiles? Stiles Stilinski?”

Stiles makes a noise somewhat resembling an affirmative, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes...and accidentally elbowing someone in the process. He hears a grunt, and then freezes and slowly turns over, eyes widening as he catches sight of the man in bed with him.

“...Kira Hale?” The woman on the phone has been talking, but Stiles hasn't heard a thing.

“Yes. Right,” Stiles stutters after a too-long moment of silence, “I remember. The kitsune.”

The man flinches back, hazel eyes boring into the phone in Stiles' hand.

“Your...husband. Is missing?” Stiles gets a sudden eyeful of Derek Hale as he flings himself backward and start frantically jerking his clothing on. “I've got a feeling he's going to be home very soon, Mrs. Hale.”

Stiles hangs up and watches Derek fight with his clothing, and he should probably leave well enough alone, but he has to _know_.

“Did. Did we...?” He starts to say, but can't quite find the words to ask.

Derek freezes and slowly looks up, eyes fixing on Stiles' for a long moment, and his nostrils flare as if he's smelled something unpleasant, before he turns and runs – literally – from ...not Stiles' apartment. Not Derek's place, either, obviously, that would be where Kira was calling from.

“That was quite a performance you put on.”

Stiles stiffens as a familiar voice rolls out from the shadows.

“Peter,” he says flatly as the older man slides from a dark corner.

“I see you've got all your faculties now,” the wolf says as he studies his extended claws. “Mind explaining to me why you and my nephew decided _my place_ was better than some cheap motel you could have had your little tryst in?”

Stiles furrows a brow and studies Peter. There's an odd tone to the werewolf's voice. For a second, Stiles thinks the older man is simply angry, he's got more than one reason to be so after all. The druid moves a bit, catches a predatory glitter in Peter's gaze as it shifts briefly, and then it hits him.

“You're jealous.”

“Of Derek?” Peter sneers, but now Stiles can see through the facade, and he leans back and tucks his arms behind his head, lets the sheet slip alarmingly low, puddling in his lap and revealing the dusting of dark hair and the curves bones of his hips.

Peter takes an involuntary step forward. “You never called me back,” he demands, to which Stiles shrugs uncaringly.

“I was out of town.” He _thinks_ , his memory seems to be missing a huge chunk of time.

“You smell like Derek,” Peter growls low, and a smirk slowly spreads across Stiles' face.

“What're you gonna do about it?”

-

Once he's distracted Peter Hale – _three times_ , fucking werewolf stamina – Stiles slips out from the clutching arms of the sleeping man and lets himself out after dressing silently.

First thing Stiles does when he gets home is to check his wards – all in place – and the he pours himself a stiff drink, before taking a very long shower.

Once he's all put to rights, the druid relaxes in his favorite chair, closes his eyes and sifts through his memories.

Stiles remembers getting on the plane, heading West to his dad's out in California...

_The woman who sits next to him isn't really his type but Stiles Stilinski never misses a opportunity to flirt. Her name is Jennifer (or Julia or something). They make small talk for a while, then the flight attendant comes around with drinks. She reaches across to give Stiles his, but Jennifer gestures and sends it flying. She apologizes profusely to both of them and then hands her own bottle of water over as the woman retrieves another. Stiles smiles in thanks and then her eyes gleam and bleed into solid white..._

Fucking witches.

Stiles buries his face in his hands. _Always meddling in shit._ He has no idea what their relationship with the Balance is, but it seems to be a bit less stringent than his own.

Stiles picks up his phone and dials his dad.

“Hey, son,” the Sheriff answers, “Did you get the guy?”

Stiles blinks at his wall. “The...guy?”

“Yeah, kid, the guy you had to cancel your flight and return to the city to catch? The one with the new evidence that came to light conveniently while you are supposed to be on vacation? That guy?” Stiles makes a face at his wall at the bitter note to his dad's voice.

“Yeeaaah, about that. I sort of, uh, hit my head and kind of...don't remember some things? Did I happen to mention this guy's name?”

“Jesus, kid, you better be alright or I'm on the next plane out there instead.”

“I'm fine, dad, I promise. Seriously.” Stiles pauses for a second. “The name though?”

“Peter something, I think.”

-

Stiles takes the next few hours and traces his movements through technological means, halting and arching a brow at the receipt from one particular shop.

“Danny, my man,” Stiles greets cheerfully, and he can practically hear the guy rolling his eyes before he swears under his breath.

“Man are you alright? You buy some serious shit from me, barely say a word and then vanish for three days. I nearly called Finstock on your ass. Some of that shit I have _never_ seen you handle.”

“Yeah. Apparently I got hexed.”

Danny whistles low. “Fucking witches,” he sighs. “What happened to your protection?”

“That's the craziest part, dude. They're all still there. I have no idea how they got past 'em. Anyways, did you see anyone with me?”

“No, man, but hey, you did get into a Camaro. It was a nice ride, and the dude driving? Smoking hot.”

“You happen to have video of Mr. Smoking-Hot-Camaro?”

“Naturally. Should be in your inbox.”

“Thanks, Dan.”

Stiles pulls up the video surveillance after he hangs up the phone and hits play. And then swears.

“Son of a mother fucking bitch.”

Well, now he knows how Derek came into the picture.

He puts the electronics away and sits back in his chair, steepling his fingers and going over the things he knows in his mind.

  1. He was somehow hexed by witches despite being protected against them.

  2. He told his father that Peter was his target.

  3. He went into his usual spell components shop and bought things for one heck of a mind control spell.

  4. He got into the car with Derek.

  5. He wakes up _with_ Derek, but in Peter's house.




Stiles really doesn't like where this is going.

-

Peter Hale has more enemies than he has low cut shirts, but only one Family that he can think of which always seem to have witches around them.

“You're supposed to be on vacation,” Finstock growls at him.

“Accidentally got hijacked by witches,” Stiles says cheerfully.

“Fucking witches,” Bobby grumbles, “What do you need?”

“I need to get close to the Argents.”

-

“What's your name?”

“I go by Jack, ma'am,” he says politely to the tiny redhead, thanking the Balance that they hadn't been introduced at Derek's bachelor party. As long as Cora Hale doesn't show up anywhere, his cover shouldn't be blown.

“Jack,” she says flatly, stalking around him in heels that could kill a man. “I'm doing a favor for an old friend, but so help me god if you embarrass me tonight, I will make you regret the day you were born.” Her eyes flash and she somehow manages to look down on him while looking up at him.

Stiles falls a little bit in love. “Don't worry, Miss Lydia, I'll be on my best behavior.”

She's silent for a moment, then sighs and goes to her desk, pushes a button. “Get my golden boys in here.”

Stiles watches Lydia through his lashes, but she turns her attention to some paperwork until there's a knock at her door some ten minutes later. Stiles waits patiently, sensing this is some sort of test.

The door opens without waiting for permission and two men walk in, and Stiles' stomach knots a little bit, because these were the two that were at Derek's party. Fortunately, neither seem to recognize him, and he's grateful he stayed mostly on the edges of that gathering.

“Isaac, Jackson, this is – ” She cuts off with a grimace, “No, Jack just won't do. Too close to Jackson.” She drums her fingernails on her desk. “Stuart, you look like a Stuart. Alright, Stuart, let's see what you can do.”

Stiles shrugs, Stuart works for him, and then he arches a brow at her. “Excuse me?”

Isaac rolls his eyes. “You're here for an audition, dumbass.”

Jackson flops down on the couch across from Lydia's desk, smirks up at Stiles. “You didn't think she was going to let you in just on your word alone did you?”

Stiles looks from one to the other, recalls that Isaac is a werewolf, and decides he's probably the easier target. So, he takes a gamble and reaches out and curls a hand around the back of the golden-haired beta's throat, presses the front of his body against the taller man's and tugs down the scarf covering his neck to mouth lightly at the throbbing vein there. He trails soft kisses along the creamy white throat while his hand holds the wolf in place tightly enough that he'd bruise a human.

Stiles tugs the scarf free and wraps it lightly around Isaac's throat, tugs softly while he whispers low enough that only the werewolf can hear. “I want to bite your neck, mark it up as mine, and then pin you to the ground and fuck you like the bitch you are.”

Isaac swallows hard, and Jackson makes a noise over on the couch, and Stiles flicks his gaze over long enough to see the brief flash of supernatural blue in his eyes, and the growing bulge in his pants.

_Another wolf. And by the looks of it, he's in love with Isaac._

“Looks like Jackson needs a little help,” he whispers, “Shall we go give it to him?” He tugs on the scarf without waiting for an answer, pushes Isaac to his knees in front of Jackson, and then leaves him to his own devices as he settles down next to Jackson, grabs a fistful of the man's shirt and tugs him in for a kiss that leaves both of them breathless as they battle for dominance of it.

Jackson loses, but only because Isaac is being so _enthusiastic_ and distracting him. Stiles leans in to kiss Jackson's neck for a while, and then slides down to join Isaac, sharing a kiss with the golden beta and then both of them using their mouths on Jackson at the same time.

A bell dings, and Stiles startles, having forgotten all about Lydia. All three of them look over at her, pupils dilated, and all of them hard as nails.

“Yes, fine, you get a provisional pass for the party tonight. Take him to the baths.”

For about five minutes, Stiles looks forward to a bath. He likes baths. Right up until they request his clothing and direct the naked druid through a door.

Stiles gets cleaned thoroughly – inside and out – and then dressed in an outfit that's quite a bit less clothing than he's used to, and then a haircut and makeup, and by the time he's through, Stiles is really, _really_ pissed at the fucking witches that are causing him to have to go through all this.

Jackson whistles low and grins at Isaac. “I think he's gonna out-pretty you tonight, baby.”

Stiles strikes a pose and then lets the duo hustle him off to the party at the Argents. It's a vastly different mood than the freewheeling bachelor party with the Hales.

All the guests are dressed impeccably, all except the three of them - and a handful of others, Stiles sees - as they are all led to a special thick rug next to the coat closet and lined up on their knees in a double row.

 _Just another appetizer on the menu_ , Stiles thinks as tables of delicacies are set up at random places through the entryway. Just before the first guests arrive, they're all fixed with leather collars with shiny D-rings at the base of the throat.

Stiles isn't surprised to see Isaac be the very first chosen, but he is startled to find himself going second, regardless of Jackson's earlier flattery.

A diamond studded leash is clipped onto him, and he follows the diminutive blonde woman silently, following Isaac's cue in how he responded to the man who chose him.

“– look lovely this evening, Victoria,” the gravelly voice of Isaac's companion says to a woman with short red hair, and she kisses his cheek softly.

“Thank you, Christopher,” she smiles, and then trails her gaze over Isaac who is probably giving her that shy, innocent, angelic look he's perfected. “You are in a rut, dear.” She pats Isaac's rear as she passes, and Stiles thanks the Balance that he had cast himself a cloaking spell before embarking on this little adventure, because the edges of her magic brush against him, and the druid suddenly realizes that he might be in a whole lot more danger than he thought.

“Ooh, Kate's got a new toy though,” Victoria murmurs in that admittedly sexy voice, and stalks over to them, letting her gaze roam over Stiles just like she had Isaac, but Stiles can't pull off the naive look. Instead, he lets his eyes fill with mischief, curls his lips into the ghost of a smirk and lifts his chin in a blatant challenge. And he's read this woman right, because he can see the interest sparking in her eyes, and it's only after Kate tugs at his leash when she steps between him and Victoria Argent, that he remembers he's not supposed to actually be seducing people.

“He's mine tonight, _sister_.” Kate smiles like it's a weapon, and then Stiles feels _her_ magic, sharply honed and under tight control, unlike the warm blanket that is Victoria.

Stiles has a sinking feeling and prays that his spell holds.

He is now certain that they're the ones who sent Jennifer after him, and he's pretty sure the why is because they were planning on using him to get to Peter. Why _Peter_ all of a sudden, he's not sure, and Stiles would really like to know HOW they got through his defenses, but he's starting to think he should have left well enough alone.

Stiles finds that he's actually lucky to have been picked by Kate, she doesn't demand much of him, just to look pretty by her side, and unlike where Isaac is servicing her brother, hands carefully curled up so he doesn't damage the armani suit, the younger sister doesn't require anything sexual of him.

He's doubly fortunate that with the clothing – or lack thereof – the haircut, and the makeup, he looks different enough to not warrant a second glance when Jennifer strides into the room.

Stiles is _very_ interested to notice that Kate lights up when she sees the woman, bids Stiles stay in an absent tone, and then engages the brunette in discussion. Stiles watches them through the corner of his eye, and catches the moment Kate's hand curls into Jennifer's, and they slip away from the party.

Stiles glances around to see that Isaac's now bouncing in Chris Argent's lap, and poor Jackson is kneeling by the side of who has to be Gerard Argent. No one is watching him, and so he manages to slip from the room, and follow the path that the two witches had taken.

He can't risk casting a spell, so Stiles crouches down outside the room, when he hears their voices and listens. He spends some time identifying sex acts by the sounds they make, but when the duo seem to be sated – eventually – they do engage in pillowtalk, _just_ the variety that Stiles was looking for.

“Did it work?”

There's something mumbled, then a muttered expletive. “–fucking interfered. I crafted that spell _myself_ , even used a mixture of their seed. It might have latched on to the nephew being that he's Hale's blood, but the second part of the enchantment just fizzled away.”

Stiles wrinkles his nose. Witch magic is absolutely _disgusting_.

“So what's next?” Kate's voice carries much more clearly than the soft-spoken Jennifer's.

“We try again, I guess. Peter's still after that Stilinski guy, so it should be easy enough to program him to put some wolfsbane in something, an apology bottle of wine, perhaps?”

Stiles has heard enough. He rises to his feet, throws the diamond leash over his shoulder and pads down the plushly carpeted hallway.

Stiles is almost home free when he round the corner and comes face to face with Gerard Argent. The older man arches a brow at Stiles.

“And just where do you think you're going?”

 


	4. Chapter 4

After four hours of Gerard Argent directing him and Jackson to do various intimate things, Stiles finally escapes from the party. He makes a beeline for the shower, cleans himself up, and then heads into the office. Bobby is there, as always. Stiles thinks he must live there.

He fills Finstock in on what he's learned about the Argents.

“All the women in the family are witches?”

“At least four,” Stiles confirms, and Finstock runs a hand through his hair.

“Where's there's four, there's more.”

Stiles blinks, opens his mouth, then shuts it again, titls head head. “Um, yeah, sure Bos- Uh, Coach.”

“Things are not going to be good if we've got a whole coven on our hands.” Stiles twists around to look at the doorway, then beams and hops up to pull the speaker into a hug.

“Catwoman!” he exclaims, after letting her go. “I didn't know you were back.”

“Just came in from the airport. Wrapped things in Mexico fast.” She grimaces. “I felt the Balance tugging at me.”

They both look to Coach, who nods. “Looks like you're headed undercover, Erica. See if you can get yourself invited into this coven. Stiles,” he looks over to the younger man, “Liam called in a few odd deaths. Go see if you can help him out. He's still working the high school thing.”

Stiles nods and squeezes Erica's hand.

“Coffee, once this is all over,” he points and she nods with a smile.

“It's a date.”

Stiles heads out as Coach hands her a file.

“Looks like our best bet is the daughter, Allison. She's taking classes at the university...”

-

“Hey there, little brother!” Stiles beams, leaning against his beat up old jeep in the parking lot.

Liam scowls. “ _Really_?”

Mason smirks, faux whispers into Stiles' ear. “You're embarrassing him in front of the team captain.”

Stiles looks over to see a tall lacrosse players side eying them,. Stiles being Stiles, he walks right up and sticks out his hand.

“Stiles, Liam's brother. He tells me you're team captain.”:

The guy blinks admittedly gorgeous eyes, and then flashes a smile, and _oh yes_ , Stiles can definitely see the attraction.

“Brett. Talbot,” he says, “And yeah. I am.”

“Make sure to push him hard,” Stiles winks, “he's not the player his big brother is.”

Mason laughs aloud as Liam sputters.

“Oh?” Brett says, eyes lighting up. “You played?”

-

“I am going to kill you,” Liam grumbles under his breath as they pull up to the house he's been staying at.

Stiles looks at him with a grin. “The Balance tends to frown on that sort of thing. Besides, your story is now rock solid, man.”

He follows Liam in, makes a beeline for the fridge.

“You do eat right?” Stiles stares at the white emptiness.

Liam looks sheepish. “There's a lot of restaurants in the area.”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “Sit down and do your homework. I'm going grocery shopping.”

-

Liam tells him about the killings over homead lasagna and fresh salad.

Stiles thinks while he chews. “And there' so sign of any sort of enemy?”

Liam shakes his head. “Nothing. But I did find out, by accident, that the most recent guy is not who he said he was.”

Stiles doesn't ask, just nods and finishes his dinner, then pulls out the rest of the things he bought once the table's been cleared.

Liam watches with wide eyes.

Stiles talks him through it, explains everything he's doing to the new druid. “Each of us does magic in their own way, but the basics are the same. This,” he holds up a plant, “will cut through mysteries. This,” Stiles indicates another herb, “is meant to placate the spirits.”

“Oh yeah, the ghost,” Mason says suddenly. Stiles side eyes him a moment, thinking, _You mean the_ other _ghost_?

“His ghost was hanging around until it saw me and Mason,” Liam explains, “As soon as it saw that I saw him, it vanished.”

Stiles is silent a long moment. “Liam,” he says at last, “how often do you see ghosts?”

Liam and Mason exchange glances. It's Mason who answers. “Uh, kind of a lot? Like, all the time?”

Stiles sits down heavily. “Well, that does change things. This spell won't work for you after all. You're _not_ a druid.” He looks at Mason and then back at Liam. “You're a necromancer.”

“Ew, gross, dude,” Liam glares, “I don't – With dead – No. Just. Uck.”

Stiles puts his hand over his face.

“No, dumbass, _death magic_. Not... _that_.”

Stiles siphons off the energy he'd started building for his spell, and directs it back into the earth, grounding it, and then puts his spell implements away.

“You got any candles in this dump?”

-

They find several, a small handmirror in pink plastic, a silver butter knife that Stiles sharpens up, and even score a rat from the dusty old attic.

“Um, Stiles,” Liam says nervously, “I don't _want_ to kill anything.”

Stiles looks sympathetic. “I know, kid.” He hands Liam the knife. “Do it anyway.”

Liam grits his teeth and grasps the wriggling rodent, whispers a soft apology, and slits its throat. He lets it bleed out into a wine glass, and the arranges the corpse on the mirror. Stiles rubs his temples, the headache of being in such close proximity to death magic already beginning. Were he to try to attempt it himself, he's be writhing in agony on the floor.

Liam sprinkles blood over the candles, and Stiles nods to himself, suspicions confirmed. The magic is showing Liam how it wants to be cast.

A wispy image of the rat rises up between them, and then slowly coalesces into a face.

“Well, fuck me sideways,” Stiles sighs and then drops his head to rest against the table.

“What is it?” Liam asks, eyes a solid black as he looks across the table.

“I know him, Stiles says into the table. “That's Peter _fucking_ Hale.”

-

“You smell like death.”

Stiles blinks up at Brett, who's staring at Liam in horror. Liam looks ready to cry.

“You didn't tell me you fell for a werewolf.”

Brett jerks as if stung and looks at Stiles, tenses as if he's going to run, or attack.

“I'm a druid, Liam's also a magic user, we're investigating a series of deaths.”

Brett tenses up even more. “The ones that smell like coyotes?”

Stiles sighs. “You two need to talk, I need to go pay someone a visit.”

His phone rungs before he can take more than a handful of steps away, and he grimaces as he sees the name on the ID.

“Lydia!” he says with forced cheerfulness. “What can I do for you?”

“Stuart, how'd you like to make some money? I have a personal request from Chris Argent for you, some sort of fancy gathering for tonight.”

Stiles might need this cover again, so he rubs his face and takes a deep breath.

“Sure! I was headed back into the city anyway.”

Malia can wait until tomorrow.

-

Lydia insists on dressing him, he's representing her after all, and he has to admit, as he looks himself over in the mirror, he looks damned good. And as an added bonus for his date, the purple silk tie and pocket square match what little he's wearing underneath.

Chris is certainly appreciative, eyes lighting up as his eyes linger over the druid. In fact, everything is going very well, until they turn a corner and run into Peter Hale, Isaac draped over his arm. Stiles is amused to note that his outfit is identical to Stiles, except his accents are in blue.

Stiles lifts his chin, waits for Peter to say something, but the wolf surprises him, just smirks at him, and Stiles feel himself react to the heat pooling in those gorgeous eyes.

“Shall we?” Chris says, and Stiles nods before he realizes that Chris is not talking to him at all.

“After you Christopher.”

Argent leads the way, tugging Stiles along with him. Isaac gives the druid a shrug when he looks back questioningly. They take an elevator from the ballroom all the way up to the penthouse, and Chris opens the door and ushers them all through.

Isaac and Stiles linger in the entrance as Chris carefully locks the door, and then ignored the boys in favor of pulling Peter to him, and kissing him thoroughly.

“I did not see that coming,” Stiles blink, jaw dropping. Isaac huffs a laugh and slides an arm around his waist.

“We might as well keep ourselves busy,” he murmurs into the druid's ear, and Stiles is thinking about it seriously, when Chris calls the younger duo over to the bed, where the older men are already down to nothing but their boxers.

They prop themselves against the headboard, wrapped around each other, and Chris hands Peter a glass of champagne.

“Time for a little live entertainment,” he says before sipping from his own glass. “I assume you can take it from there, boys.”

Isaac and Stiles slowly undress each other, leaving their ties on, along with the matching silk underwear, for the time being. Stiles reaches out and grabs Isaac's tie, pulls him close for a filthy kiss, and then attacks the werewolf's neck, causing the golden haired boy to moan aloud and curve his hand around to cup Stiles ass, squeezing gently as he grinds their dicks together.

Isaac slides to his knees next, tugs the silk panties down to just under Stiles' balls, and then licks a strip along the underside of the already hard cock, before taking it into his mouth enthusiastically. Stiles tangles his long fingers in the wolf's curls tightly, causing Isaac to moan around the length in his mouth.

He briefly glances over to see Peter sitting in Chris' lap, hand wrapped around and lazily stroking his wolf as they watch the boys.

Stiles tugs Isaac off of him, and pushes him towards the bed, bending him over it, so that his face is looking right at Peter and Chris while Stiles parts the cheeks of his ass and dives in, tongue swiping in and along his tight pucker until Isaac is wet and sloppy with it.

Stiles slides two fingers in as Peter moves down, slides his thick cock between the lax lips of the golden haired beta. Chris moves with Peter, fucks into him slowly as he uses Isaac's mouth. Stiles stretches the other boy, and then presses his cock into that tight heat, groaning as Isaac clenches around him, and then fucking into him in earnest.

Chris finishes first, filling Peter with his come, and then he falls to the side, watches the trio until Peter and Stiles come, nearly simultaneously. Peter lays long ways on the bed as Stiles pulls back from Isaac, and the younger beta gets flipped to his back, untouched dick still jutting into the air.

Stiles looks up at Chris, who nods, and the three of them surround the boy, Chris' hand wrapping around Isaac's cock while Stiles reaches to play with his nipples, and Peter devours his mouth, tasting himself within.

It's not long before Isaac comes apart under the ministrations of the three men, and they all lay back for a few minutes to recover. Chris is the first to get up, scoops Isaac up in his arms and heads for the bedroom door.

“Have a good night, gentlemen.”

Stiles arches a brow and then turns his head lazily to look at Peter.

“You don't answer my calls, I had to do _something_ to get some time with you.”

“Surely the great and powerful Peter Hale has people falling all over themselves to get into his bed.”

Peter crawls across the king size bed until he can coil around Stiles. “So you _do_ know who I am,” he murmurs.

Stiles mentally curses himself. “Isaac filled me in,” he lies, hoping that the beta won't rat him out.

“You know I can hear lies, right?”

“Fuck,” Stiles says out loud and closes his eyes. _I'm a dead man._

“If you insist,” Peter chuckles, and then rolls Stiles onto his side, grinding into the druid's ass as he reaches for the lube.

Peter doesn't bring up the subject again.

-

Stiles calls Lydia the next morning. “No more, I'm done.”

She's not happy about it, and by the time he gets off the phone, Stiles feels like his ears have been flayed. But he has a job to do, and that one isn't it. Not to mention Peter knows about it, and he needs to stay the fuck away from the mafia kingpin.

Well, except for the part where he's casting location spells on the man's daughter.

Stiles follows Malia's exploits around the area, matches where she's been with mysterious deaths, and identifies most of them as informers and other people who have crossed Peter Hale.

Stiles calls his boss.

“Pretty sure we're gonna have to kill her, Coach.”

“Cupcake.”

“Huh?”

“I decided I like cupcake better than coach.”

“Uh, okay.”

“Send this one out to Liam. He needs the practice.”

Stiles winces and sighs. “You got it, Co-upcake.”

-

“Dude, no. No way.”

Stiles shrugs. “Gotta do what the Balance needs, and she's caused too much death.”

“How do you _know_ that?”

Stiles pulls out a picture of Malia and hands it to Liam, who snarls and crumples it up in his hands as that inky blackness rolls over his eyes.

“The Balance rules us all, little brother.” Stiles is sympathetic as he rests his hand on Liam's shoulder. “It does have its perks though.” Liam follows his gaze to where Brett is heading towards them, and then ducks his head and blushes. “As long as you do what it wants, it will give you the things you need to make you happy.”

Liam looks up at Stiles. “Did it give you someone?”

Stiles thinks about Peter Hale. “I have other things that make me happy, kid. Now go, see if he wants to help you kill a coyote.”

Liam skips up to Brett, who pulls him into a lingering kiss. Stiles smiles a bit, and then walks away. He thinks they're going to be just fine.

-

Stiles picks up some chinese takeout on the way home, and he's really looking forward to a hot shower and maybe sleeping for three days.

He unlocks his door and sets the food on the counter, tugs off his coat and shirt, steps into his bedroom in order to change, and halts in the doorway.

“Hello, Stiles.”

The druid leans against the door frame, crosses his arms over his chest and arches a brow.

“Peter.” His voice is flat as he looks over the very dangerous criminal lounging on his bed, hands tucked behind his head, looking very at home. Stiles refuses to let himself thinks about wanting to jump the older man and fuck him stupid.

“Lydia tells me you quit. I do hope it wasn't something I've done.” Peter's eyes glitter as he looks over Stiles.

“You have a bad habit of turning up everywhere,” is all that Stiles says before he turns on his heel to walk out of the room.

“Must be the Balance...” Peter says, eyes narrowed as he looks at Stiles' back, sees the sudden stiffening as the younger man freezes in place, hears the double-thump of his heart. “...druid.”

Stiles turns, chin high. “You're a real pain in the ass, you know that?”

“Part of my charm,” Peter says as he slips from the bed, stalks close to Stiles. “And one of the many reasons you're so taken with me.”

Stiles snorts. “Also, incredibly arrogant.”

Peter shuts him up with a thorough kiss that leaves Stiles breathless and panting against the wall.

“Now, as to why I'm actually here,” he says, pulling a small velvet box from his coat pocket and handing it to the druid.

Stiles arches a brow and opens it to see a single banded golden ring. He looks up at Peter.

“You're an excellent liar, Stiles, and I need a mate.” Stiles swallows hard. “For an informal gathering of the Were Council in Ottowa. Your passport up to date?”

“You want me to pretend to be your _mate_?” Stiles is skeptical.

Peter tugs him close, gives him a lingering kiss. “Come now, it's not as if it's a long stretch for you. You know the customs as a druid.” Peter's hands slide down his sides, one moving around to cup the druid's ass. “And you've certainly been in bed with me before.”

“What's in it for me?” Stiles tries to ignore the lips at his neck, the hands kneading his ass, and the thigh slotted between his legs.

“Me.” Peter says simply, and then reaches for the ring and slides it on Stiles' finger before leading him to the bed.

 


	5. Chapter 5

“Where did you two meet?”

“His nephew's bachelor party,” Stiles answered truthfully and then lets the corners of his lips curl up in an arrogant smirk. “I was hotter than his date.”

Peter's eyes twinkle with amusement over his drink before he's pulled away from Stiles' side to talk business with someone. They keep most of the same story that Stiles had told before, old friend of Derek's, which is reinforced by the enthusiastic hug that Kira gives him when she sees him.

“Derek told me how you had just found him when I called you,” she says, and Stiles darts a glance to Derek, who won't meet his eyes.

“I'm just glad everything's okay,” Stiles says sincerely and she squeezes him before waving enthusiastically to her mother and excusing herself to talk to the elder kitsune. He looks at Derek, extends his hand. “It was _nothing_ ,” he says, and Derek seems to catch the meaning behind his words, glancing briefly to Stiles, before the hazel eyes brighten as they look over his shoulder. Stiles turns, expecting to see Kira, but it's Scott who is coming towards them, and he sweep Stiles into a hug that startles the druid.

“I didn't know you and Peter got hitched! I mean, I knew you were seeing each other, but this is awesome, that makes us all brothers now!”

Stiles blinks, but Derek smiles softly at Scott. The druid is struck by the sudden realization that Derek is in love with the other wolf. And that's why it takes him a minute to process what Scott had said.

“You know...we were dating?”

Derek snorts, drawn from his Scott-adoring trance. “He kind of talks about you. Peter never mentions anyone more than once.”

Stiles purses his lips, narrows his eyes, and lifts his gaze across the room, where Peter is, in fact, watching him. The wolf blows him a kiss, and Stiles shakes his head before turning back to Scott and Derek. Scott's watching Kira as she brings her mother over...in the exact same way that Derek looks at him.

 _I'm glad I don't have to sort out that mess_ , he thinks, before smiling politely to Kira's introduction. “It's nice to meet you.”

Noshiko inclines her head graciously but doesn't deign to reply. She's a bit warmer to Derek, and Scott gets a brief nod without the kitsune even bothering to look at him.

“It was such a great idea of Uncle Peter to call this meeting,” Kira enthuses, which makes Stiles frown.

“We thought the Yukimuras organized it,” Stiles starts to say, but a sudden swell of music interrupts him, and suddenly Peter's by his side, tugging him away to their seats for the entertainment.

Stiles shrugs, assumes it's some sort of communication error, and plasters himself to his “husband's” side.

Peter's mouth is doing extremely distracting things to Stiles' neck when then dancers come out, and the druid has the fleeting thought that it's kind of a weird idea. But then Peter's hand slides into Stiles' lap and he twitches away, turns shocked eyes on the wolf. “I think you're overdoing it, don't you?” he hisses.

But Peter isn't _seeing_ him, isn't listening and he continues to put his hands all over Stiles. The druid looks over to Derek for help, and discovers that it's not just Peter. Derek is kissing Scott with enthusiasm, Kira's in Scott's lap, and Kira has her mouth on Derek's neck.

Just then the doors slam open.

No one notices except Stiles. He shoves Peter, not that it budges the wolf in the least, but it at least gives him room to wriggle away, ignoring the snarl from Peter than sounds oddly like 'mate'. The druid ducks away and behind a table, glancing back to see Peter tangled up with Jackson and Isaac. Stiles doesn't even recall them being here, but as he crawls around Lydia and Cora, he figures the golden duo must have come with.

Stiles finds a good vantage point, just as thirteen people in robes come in through the door. It's not until he sees familiar blonde curls next to a shock of brilliant red hair that he realizes who they must be.

-

“I thought you said the druid was here,” Kate hisses as she stands over Peter, watching his antics with the two blonde werewolves.

Jennifer shrugs helplessly. “I can only compel Peter to invite him, and I know that spell worked, I attached it to their mate bond.”

“Find that boy,” Kate hisses, turning around and pointing at the last four witches still cowled and robed, “if he's here. I need him.” She turns to Victoria, Allison, and Erica. “Keep them under until the search is complete. Then,” Kate sneers at the room filled with writhing monsters, “we burn this place down.”

Allison's eyes fly wide and she looks at her mother. Victoria's mouth is set in a hard line. “She's coven leader now, Allison. We follow or leave.”What do

Allison closes her eyes, but her magic doesn't waver.

The witches are thorough, and Stiles only has moment before he's found out, and so he does the one thing he's not done as a druid. He gathers up all his magic and sends it out in one burst, the one spell that the witches won't be able to feel. He calls for a familiar.

Spent, Stiles curls into a tighter ball and waits.

“Got him.” Chris Argent's deep tones cut into Stiles' fog, and he looks up in shock to see the man standing over him.

“Chris?” He nods coldly, but Stiles sees the hint of something like regret in his eyes. “How can you be a witch?”

“Kate found a spell that unlocked the ancient curse.” Chris murmurs as he hauls the druid to his feet.

“More like I bargained for it,” Kate smirks as she stalks around Stiles. “With a mutual friend of ours. I believe you know Noshiko.”

Stiles sets his jaw and wrenches at Chris' hold. “You, but _why_?”

The elegant kitsune arches one perfect eyebrow. “Why have one empire when I can have two?”

“But...the Balance...” Stiles's mouth is running faster than his brain.

Kate laughs. “Oh, _sweetie_ , the Balance can be swayed, and we convinced it to help us.”

“That's not – ” _possible_ , Stiles wants to say, but obviously it is. He reaches for his magic, and Kate arches her brow.

“Performance issues?” she asks sweetly. “Maybe your _mate_ can help – Oh.” She turns to look at Peter. “Looks like he's busy.”

Stiles doesn't get the chance to tell her that he's not Peter's mate, because a tiny golden streak of fur and teeth flies in through the window and knocks down one of the witches, and subsequently rips out her throat.

“What the hell is that?” Kate snarls.

Chris lifts his arms. “Looks like a fennic fox.” He starts chanting but the fox darts out of his line of sight.

Kate rounds on Noshiko, who returns the gaze blandly. “Not one of my people, I assure you.” She sniffs. “They're not even true foxes.”

Stiles apparently has a tiny, faux fox as his familiar. _Of course, couldn't have been something like a mountain lion or an elephant or even a venomous snake..._ Stiles looks at everyone staring at him. “Oh, did I say that out loud?”

“Kill that fox, and someone put this druid to sleep. I'm sick of his mouth.”

“I don't think so, Argent.”

Stiles has never been so glad to see Peter in all of his life. He ducks the blow from Gerard as Peter poises his claws over Kate's throat.

“Witches,” Peter calls, “I've got your Leader. If you don't stop this spell now, I will rip out her throat.”

The coven looks around at each other, then they turn to Victoria. She and Kate face off, but Victoria doesn't get to make her choice, because the fox leaps forward and closes its teeth around her throat.

Peter shrugs and the wolf and the fox tears out the women's throats at the same time.

The fox brings the necklace Victoria had been wearing and sets it in front of Stiles, then sits back and grins up at him. The druid gingerly lifts the necklace, and awkwardly pats the fox on the head. It sniffs Stiles hand and then draws back, wanders off.

Stiles shakes his head. “This is why I never wanted a familiar.”

He hands the necklace to Peter, as the fox stops in front of a quietly chanting Erica, who's apparently dispelling the aphrodisiac incense, because the groups on the floor begin separating.

Stiles is briefly amused by the look on Derek's face when he realizes what has happened, and Stiles would have said something to him about it, but the druid finds himself pulled into Peter's arms, and the wolf buries his face in Stiles' neck.

“I thought they were going to kill you.”

Stiles awkwardly pats Peter's shoulder twice. “Yeah, okay, I'm fine, I'm good.” Peter doesn't let him go, and Stiles thinks maybe some of that stuff is still in the air. He idly watches the fox watch Erica, and then the blonde druid looks down and coos.

She scoops up the fox and cuddles him in her arms, and he nestles close, a moment then leaps free, landing on a table. Erica follows curiously, then takes a step back as a man arises from where the fox disappeared, pulling the tablecloth to wrap around himself.

“Hello, witch,” he says softly to Erica. She blushes, honest to god blushes. _Erica doesn't blush, what is even happening here?_

“I thought he was supposed to be my familiar,” Stiles wonders aloud. Peter huffs against his neck and the lifts his face.

“That position is already taken. He had to find someone else.”

Stiles blinks and then pushes back from Peter and crosses his arms. “You can't be – _Werewolves_ can't be familiars!”

“Sure they can, my boy,” Finstock's voice echoes through the room. “He is half animal, you know, and with the intense bond you two have – ”

“What bond? Why does everyone keep _saying_ that?” Stiles is baffled.

Peter rolls his eyes and scoops the druid up and throws Stiles over his shoulder. Everyone ignored the druid's protests as Finstock starts barking orders.

“Get those witches gagged. Ugh, I hate witches,” he shudders, and then yells over his shoulder. “Get your asses in here and take them into custody.”

Rafael McCall and Deucalion walk through the door, and there's a long moment where Scott and his father face off, before Rafael turns away and assists his partner in rounding up the witches that are left.

Finstock picks up the necklace that Stile had dropped, slides it into Allison's hand.

“You're the leader now,” he says, dark eyes eerily intense as he stares her down. “Find a better way or die.”

-

Peter doesn't put Stiles down until they next to the limo that they rode in to get there, and he doesn't speak until they're in the car, headed to – somewhere that Peter owns, Stiles assumes.

“You don't feel it because I suppressed it. At least, tried to.” Peter breaks the silence suddenly. “I have an empire to run, I don't have time for distractions, and I can't afford weaknesses.”

“You can suppress your mate bond?” Stiles' professional curiosity has him leaning forward a bit. He's never heard of such a thing.

“Alphas can, we can hide most of abilities in one way or the other.” Peter looks Stiles in the eye. “I don't want to hide it any more. I don't care about everything that I've built, spent my life scheming and slaughtering to achieve. If you asked, I'd give it all up to live in whatever shack you call home.”

Stiles is speechless, because he doesn't feel a _thing_. Peter and he sit there, staring at each other in silence, and then suddenly, he does feel it. He feels so overwhelming, with such an immense power that he can't even breathe for a moment.

Stiles takes in a huge lungful of air and then shudders. He can't say anything right away, but he looks up, really _looks_ at Peter for the first time, and he reaches a hand out, whispers the wolf's name.

“ _Peter_.”

The older man surges forward, desperation from holding himself back for so long has him pinning Stiles to his seat, lips mashing together as he claws through Stiles' shirt, eyes glowing bright blue. Stiles arches as Peter's lips move down to find his nipple, and he fists his hand in Peter's hair when the older man's hands unfasten the druid's dress pants.

Stiles can feel the desire surging along their bond and he nearly loses it when Peter's mouth slides around his cock, heated wetness, tongue pressing along the underside, and he wants to buck up into the werewolf' mouth, but he manages to hold himself back.

Peter fucks his mouth onto Stiles' dick long enough to get it sloppy wet, and then pulls back, chest heaving to tear at his own pants, freeing his length before flattening himself against Stiles once more. Stiles arms go around Peter as the wolf wraps his hand around both of them together and starts rolling his hips against his mate.

Stiles kisses Peter, desperate for him like a drowning man for air, and it's not nearly as intricate as their previous couplings. This one is sloppy and messy and so much more important, and they can both feel it as the move against each other, sharing the same air, foreheads pressing together as Peter brings them closer to the edge. Stiles' cries are muffled as Peter claims his lips once again, pushing Stiles over the edge first, and then soon following. Stiles leans back against the seat, boneless with the aftershocks of pleasure as Peter moves lower and licks his mate clean, before repeating he maneuver with his own hand, and then using his handkerchief to wipe his dick clean before tucking it away.

Peter settles down next to Stiles, who tiredly lays his head on Peter's shoulder, and the wolf inside the older man is smug and happy about finally being able to claim his mate.

Stiles tilts his head slightly up and looks at Peter silently, to which Peter looks down and arches a brow.

“When did you know?”

“At the bachelor party.”

“This is never going to work out.”

Peter tugs Stiles close, wraps his arms around the druid tightly, buries hi face in Stiles' hair. “I know.”

-

He drops Stiles off at his own place, just watches Stiles turn to look out the window when they stop, and then takes a deep breath. He doesn't say good bye and neither does Stiles. The druid slides free and lets the car door shut behind him, doesn't look back as he walks through his wards and halts as the woman rises from where she's been sitting.

“You stink of wolf,” she says with a wrinkled nose.

“Who the hell are you?” Stiles snarls, and how did you get past my wards.

“You left a loophole I just walked right through,” she smiles softly. “I would have taught you better, but your father made me leave you behind.”

Stiles blinks, shakes his head, refusing the conclusion that she's leading him to. “My mother's dead.”

“That she is,” the woman says, a true glimmer of sadness in her eyes. “I'm your aunt Lisa.”

Stiles reaches for his magic, but finds it's locked away from him. He tries to attack her, but her spell also holds him in place. “No,” he says, refuting her claim even as all the evidence points to her truth.

“It's all true, dear, you're the last of a very long line of witches, and I'm afraid your blood is needed to lift an ancient curse.”

“The witches,” Stiles spits, and she nods. “Indeed. So, if you'll be so kind as to stay still, I'll make your death as painless as possible.”

“I won't make the same promise for you, witch.”

Stiles' heart skips a beat.

Peter stalks towards her and she waves a spell at him, almost boredly, then her eyes widen as it fails to take.

“What?” she manages, but Peter smirks.

“Your spells can't affect a familiar.” And then he severs her head from her body, still with that smug look on his face.

Until Stiles falls to the ground, gasping. Peter kneels down, frantically checks him everywhere. “Are you alright?”

Stiles manages a nod. “Getting real sick of witches.” And then he looks up into Peter's eyes. “Thanks for the rescue. Again.”

Peter's lips tighten. “Stiles, I can't keep doing this.”

The druid looks down and nods.

“Marry me,” Peter suddenly demands, and Stiles blinks up in shock.

“Wait, what?”

“You heard me,” he says, brow arched in challenge.

Stiles looks around, thinks over the days' events, and then gives Peter a half-shrug. “Yeah, alright.”

-

It ends up being a massive wedding, Stiles doesn't know a third of the people there, but Finstock and Erica come, the latter bringing her fox, Boyd, as a date and Finstock shows up with a lovely woman, who causes a stir when it's rumored that she's the infamous Lydia Martin's mother. Kira, Scott, and Derek all come together, and Stiles spends at least an hour thinking about how that might work, before they're finally whisked away to their honeymoon. Instead of something lavish, they've chosen to take the yacht out and just spend some time by themselves. When they return, they've settled into their bond, and they rule Peter's empire together.

The Balance never makes its opinions on the matter known.

 

**Author's Note:**

> > Please let me know if I need to tag anything. 
>> 
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> 
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> 
> You **DO NOT** have my permission to link to my works on Goodreads.


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